Alphabet Sirens

Short Story

I had carried this stomach for approximately 650 days. It was now turning black and blue so I knew that it was time to deliver you to the world. I walk to the kitchen and follow the plan.

In my little basket 

I pack three bottles of water. 

I pack applesauce, place hot soup into a container, 

pack a large bottle of Gatorade, 

a roll of paper towel too. 

I pack the hot tea; a concoction 

I took from the book to slow bleeding 

and fortify the mind. 

I grab the backpack that I had packed for this occasion. Inside of it are two towels. Three changes of clothes. A pair of shoes. A candle and the words I had written in preparation for this harrowing experience. 

The sharp pain in my side is a reminder that you are stretching in protest of the confinement of my belly. I place my hand at the base of my stomach and grind my teeth together to keep from screaming. We are in the period of time that is really just foreplay before sunrise. I can hear the birds starting to wake up. I drive myself deeper into the path until I can hear the river water running. 

The bag is a million pound salvation and the basket is no lighter. I “HEE HEE HOOOOOOOO” my way through the path. 

“MMMMM BITCH” I howl up at the trees and down at the damp rock that my bare feet caress. The river water is at my ankles now. It is so cool it almost distracts me from the fiery pain building between my thighs. I walk deeper into the river finding the tree and rock that I had worked to place for this moment. 

I squat down and howl 

again a feral creature 

at odds with the capability of my own body.

“Get out get get outtttttt” 

I am screaming you out of me 

but you are stubborn. 

I consider finding a jagged rock and slicing  my stomach open

before I smell the blood in the water. 

It rushes away 

and my stomach contracts 

again an angry choking of itself. 

It is a question of whether or not I have wanted the things I said I wanted. 

I moan 

a weak moan. 

Exhausted. 

I stick my fingers between my legs and feel you there the soft spot of your head slick with river water and embryonic fluid. I squeeze my own self again and your full head is out and I snatch you from between my legs and into the world covered in river water and the water of life. 

Your belly is flat and your head is so round. That I have managed to push you out is nothing short of a miracle. Behind you, the sun has started to peek its greedy face from the other side of the world. I have wanted you so badly but I never thought I would ever get to hold you. I compress your tiny body to my chest now leaking milk and cry. In the water, the tears are only part of the bigger thing. You remain silent but I can feel your tiny heartbeat pounding ancient drums a reminder that we are connected. I lift you up and kiss your fragile shoulder. 

I am still bleeding into the water. I pull out the amniotic sac. I bite it with my teeth and spit a piece into the water. A small thank you for housing my ritual. 

On the bank of the river, I vacuum the Gatorade into my throat. 

You lay on a clean towel 

smelling like the manifestation of 

success 

labor 

persistence 

action. 

I bring your tiny mouth to my teat 

and you do not hesitate to take from me some more.

I welcome it. 

I have only ever hoped 

to bring something as marvelous as you to life. 

It has only taken me wanting to 

and screaming through the pain. 

Bring the soup, now warm, to my mouth and drink— dry land after a drought. I feel the warmth spreading to my toes. I burp and you giggle. The sun strikes the water not too far from our toes. You exist and I am the reason. I pull the paper out of the bag and read it so that these are the first words you hear. 

“Let me 

do what it takes. 

I will rip myself apart 

for you. I need you so badly 

there is only the two of us 

and my driving need 

to bring you into existence. 

You are no accident. 

You are the consequence of deliberate, repetitive, persistent, action. 

You are my pride and hopes. 

You are eternal.” 

I place you into the water and you float. Indestructible. Remind me the power of creation is mine if I want it. I marvel at the way the water centers you. It’s as if it knows there is something cosmic about you and that you are also part river current. It demands the molecules of hydrogen and oxygen support you as if saying, “look world it’s dense and tender”. 

It whispers to me that perhaps you are too good to share with the world. I stick my head beneath the water and gurgle “We did not bleed for secrecy”. The answer is hydrogen and oxygen molecules entering my lungs. I need air the way you need to be seen and so I break through the water, grab you, and head to the bank of the river. Together we make our own river; two sirens crying alphabet tears desperate to be heard by the world.

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The weight of an unfinished project has been sitting on my mind…. so I obviously had to write a story about it instead of finishing the project… HA. Anyway, one part of being a writer is that feeling of finally finishing a piece or a body of work. Some writers (artists) express a feeling of emptiness. For me, I feel a massive relief. Sometimes, I don’t even realize I have this building pressure or intensity going internally until it’s done. Then there’s the added layer of “Will anyone ever see this? Will the people who need to see it see it, read it, receive it as intended?” Those are things I usually only think of after the fact but they are some thoughts that I think have some value. Maybe I’ll write a different story about that.

TELL ME:
What was the last thing you wrote that brought you great joy and relief or even filled you with intense emotion? Are you working on anything exciting? What was our favorite part of the story? Favorite line? Did you like the voiceover?

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As usual tune in next Tuesday for my next newsletter.

Read some of my other pieces here:

1. Hunting The Hyena Pack
2. Ehnee's Body
3. Do Witches Whisper In the Sky?
4. The Everything Thief
5. Ennoui's Hunger

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